


Rink

by Machi Negun (whitetigerlily)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetigerlily/pseuds/Machi%20Negun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is DJing at a roller rink when plucky, angry Karkat Vantas comes to the rink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breathe With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/362023) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Will be written more thoroughly later, another chapter may be added. I apologize for any OOC instances. Constructive criticism is welcome.

This fucking sucks. This might be the fuckingest suckingest thing that ever fucking sucked. You don't even remember why you came to this stupid-ass roller rink with the stupid-ass couple who can't keep their hands off of each other. Oh, wait, that's right!-you came to keep them from putting their hands all over each other. Roller rink, your ass. That is clearly the most groping that can possibly be done by two amateur skaters on any wooden surface. You are pretty sure they could not be any more fucking touchy-feely with each other. Fuckity fuck. 

You're sitting on the side of the rink, glowering and sipping a coke you bought when someone obtusely cool walks over. Yeah, right. This asshole just thinks he's cool. Seriously, how much of a douche do you have to be to wear shades IN-FUCKING-DOORS? Oh, joy, he's coming over here to talk to you. Big fucking yay. Jackass probably thinks he's doing you a favor, walking over to share his high-and-mightiness with you. Well, screw him. He slides into the booth next to you. You resume glowering, looking not at him but instead at the rink where Vriska and Terezi are skating. Fuckasses. Little kids are starting to stare, they're getting so fucking into it. Douchey McShades clears his throat, waiting for you to look over but too cool to get your attention any other way. He can wait, it's not like the cool train is gonna fucking pull outta the station anytime soon, and you're gonna be here a while. Vriska might actually be trying to get John to have intercourse inside the roller rink. Seriously, where is the fucking staff of this place?! How can that even be legal in public?! Someone coughs unsubtly next to you. Oh, right. McShades. He's still there.

~

You had been doing your normal, totally badass thing like you usually do on Tuesday nights, dj'ing for the roller rink, when you first saw him. You're here every Tuesday and Wednesday night, thanks to your dick of a Bro hooking you up with this lame gig. You just know it was some job he passed down to you because it was too lame for him. You just rolled your eyes behind your shades and accepted, because something like this could totally be a trek through the wilderness of irony that you could add to your repertoire of ironic adventures. Deep in the convoluted masses of the irony of your ill-as-all-hell beats, you spot the little dude. He's like a little angry dwarf, grumping into the booth to glare at some innocent skaters. Man, that couple in the middle's really getting it on. Damn; it takes a really fucked-up couple to get so exhibitionistic in a roller rink full of kids. But the one who really takes the cake is the little dude.

He's actually pretty cute, from what you can see. Leaving the table to play on its own for a little (you already have the night's playlist pretty much set) you cruise on over to him, sidling into the seat right next to him. You clear your throat, and he glances over at you before resuming his attempts to set the hardwood on fire with just his eyes. Damn, looking up close he's just asking to be hit on. His jaw set and his eyebrows all knit together like his grandma's scarf make him totally prey for all the bad guys around here. The roller rink is hardly a hotspot for all the straight guys, you know. Guess you'll just have to keep the little guy safe for a while. You know for sure that Eridan guy who works the snackstand has been eyeing him up since his little party of three walked in. His eyes were so glued to the kid's ass he was in danger of needing optical surgery. 

Your eyes go from coolly glaring at Eridan back to this kid. He's pretty tiny up close, but you bet there's probably a fair amount of muscle under his black tshirt. You clear your throat again, giving him one last chance to respond before you make him respond. He continues to ignore you. Oh well. He's had two chances.

~  
You're just sitting there minding your own damn business when suddenly EVERYTHING GOES BLACK. Okay, after a second you realize that that's because your own personal douchebag has, for NO FUCKING REASON, put his hands over your eyes and is now whispering in your ear like some kind of rapist. "You're pretty cute for a guy with no skates on at a roller rink. Got something against the wheels, man?"  
You are trying your absolute hardest not to totally flip your shit. Trying. That does not mean you do not viciously grab his hand and rip it off of your faces, it only means that you do so without hollering and scaring all the children. You turn to face this asshole, see what his problem is.   
"What the hell is your problem?! You got a fucking vendetta or something, man?!"  
He smirks infuriatingly. Fucking asshole. Stupid shades on an even stupider face. You just cannot seem to catch a break from all the stupid. You're like an idiot magnet. You don't even know this guy's name. You think to yourself, fine, it's no big deal. He just wants to sit here, smirking to himself and seriously invading your personal space while blocking any exit. You've had enough of this, and especially enough of those fucking shades. Reaching out a hand, you're inches from swiping them off his smug face when he catches your wrist. "Uh-uh," he says threateningly, "nobody touches the shades. Nobody. Not even cute little angry guys with no self-control." No self control?! WHAT?! What a total fucking asswipe. Except he's an asswipe with one unfortunately rather strong arms grasping your wrists, intercepting your second attempt at getting the sunglasses off his face. You do not like where this is going. Nope, no, and also some no with a little additional no on the side. This is not good, he is leaning in like he's gonna ki-.......and now he's laughing. Wait, what?   
Why is he laughing? His little chortles come out huskily, like he's trying to keep it in but can't help himself. He looks at you and smiles a sleazy smile. "You actually thought I was gonna kiss you?" he asks. "Nah, man, I'm not into that kinda thing. Consent for all, motherfuckers." You are actually going to blow your top now.   
"YOU FUCKING FUCKASS ASSHOLE, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? STOP FUCKING TOUCHING ME. NOW. I MEAN IT."  
He stops laughing and looks at you in what you assume is an appraising manner, but could be any number of looks given that you CAN'T SEE HIS DAMN EYES. He has also not let go of your wrists, you now notice. Is there no security in this building? Why is nobody stopping this lunatic? Said lunatic is now smiling, an almost sweet affair that almost makes him not look like the fucker he is. He is smiling and saying, "Come on, man, come back to my table with me. It's fucking sweet back there, I promise."  
You are nearly about to go on a rampage about how rapist-y that sounds and how little interest you have in his stupid turntable booth when he promises to buy you something to eat.   
"Fuck you."  
"That's a yes?"  
"Are you gonna fucking let go if I say no?"  
"Nope."  
And somehow you ended up practically fucking locked in his stupid booth with him, slouching in a chair while he pressed stupid buttons and turned dials. You finished your pizza ages ago. He probably wasn't even fucking doing anything, probably just wanted to show off and look cool. Eventually he turns to face you, his smug little grin returning to his face. "Come here."  
"No. Why the fuck would I. Fuck you."  
"Come on. C'mere, I got something to show you."  
Whatever. You get up out of your chair and walk over to him. As you lean over to look at what he's pointing at, he expertly grabs your waist and dips you into his lap. You would be a splat on the floor if it weren't for his arm holding you up; your body is laid across his legs, but you aren't given much time to fume about this before his face is so close to yours you can see your reflection in his glasses and his tongue is far enough in your mouth that you could probably swallow it if you wanted. You try this, and he moans deep in his throat. Well that didn't fucking work. He's kissing you hard, while one hand holds your torso up and the other is snaking its way up your shirt. Your hands are grabbing at his hair, trying to pull him off of you, but that fails also and leads to more moaning. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. After a minute or so, he comes up for air and you open your mouth to curse him out and find his finger on your lips.   
"Shoosh," he says, "You--Oh, my gosh, I'm sorry, uh, you, um,"  
You wonder what softened him up when you feel wet tears rolling down your face. Whether it was from the anxiety of his kissing or lack of air you couldn't say, but he's definitely freaking out seeing you cry. He lifts you up and sets you in your chair from before, taking some leftover napkins to dry your eyes. "Dammit," he sighs, running his hands through his hair. "I didn't mean to make you cry. You can, uh, you can sit here a minute and get yourself together, I mean, if you want. I won't mind if you wanna go back out to the booth." You just sit a minute. That was your first kiss just now, completely taken by the biggest douchebag you've ever come across.  
~  
You run your hands through your hair. Dammit, dammit, dammit. You've completely fucked up. The little guy is over there trying to pull himself together, wiping his face off, and you're just fidgeting with the board dials like an idiot. So uncool. You don't even want to pretend you're feeling cool right now, because that would make you not only a fuckup who makes guys cry when he kisses them, but one who acts like a jackass after the fact, too. That's not you. But you have no idea what to do when he suddenly says, "You know, if you really wanted to make it up to me, you'd take off the shades."  
You pause. Taking off your shades, your two little lenses of aloofness, means taking off your whole persona. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But you guess you don't have a ton of options, especially since he looks like he might call the police. You wish you'd had a little more forethought than to attack angsty guys with cute faces, even if it was originally in the spirit of protecting them from some of the more wretched guys here. Now you've become one of those guys. You're disgusted with yourself.  
~  
You're still sitting there, half sulking and half wallowing, thinking about all the heroines in your romantic comedies and their less-than-spectacular first kisses and trying to make yourself feel better, when a dark object lands in your lap. The glasses. You look up to find a person that appears much different from your initial observation. For one thing, he's pretty fucking concerned-looking, and any aloofness is pretty much gone. Good. His eyes are a weird-ass shade of red, and it makes you kind of uncomfortable so you look away. He's not bad looking. Actually, he'd be pretty attractive if he weren't an overly unconcerned semi-rapist for most of the time you've known him. He reaches out a hand, with the intent to grab his glasses, but you noticeably move your chair back, farther away from him. He moves back away from you, trying to keep his distance now, and rests his head in one hand, effectively covering his eyes. "Alright, you've seen me without the shades. Will you give them back now?"  
You deliberate. On one hand, you could just give him the stupid shades and storm out of here. On the other hand, you could make this guy just as uncomfortable as he's made you. Douchey McShades is about to get a taste of his own fucking medicine.   
~  
You're waiting for him to just give you the shades and start yelling again when he gets up and places himself on your lap, straddling your legs. You jerk up, feeling cornered without your glasses to hide your expression and surprised at this sudden turnaround. It's like this guy's Igor and just pulled a damn switch inside himself that changed him into a sex kitten. Not that you mind, but you aren't really sure what you're in for when his hands go under your shirt and his long nails run across your stomach. This dude's getting crazy, running his fingers across your chest and playing with your nipples. He's breathing into your neck and licking your jawline and his hands are slipping lower and lower. Taking advantage of his sudden surge of interest, you put your hands on his ass as he unzips your pants. His hands are shaky and inexperienced. Yours, much less so.  
~  
You've practically given up any hope you could have possibly had for this guy once you start touching him below the belt. His eyes look at you in a curious, pretending-to-be-aloof-but-totally-into-it way. When he starts getting at you, though, you forget what you came for in the first place and just kind of lose your mind a little bit. This guy is so good you almost forget what a freak he is. You worry that you two could be seen by the skaters, but he doesn't seem to give a shit at all. He's using his hands and you're trying to keep up and use yours and when you both finish you're a pair of hot, sticky messes who will probably have a lot of explaining to do. "Oh, man," he smirks, "you and I could go places. Places a lot better than this dump." And you believe him.


	2. After the Rink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a fluffy expansion. There may be some very OOC instances (sorry!). I may write more depending on the reception this gets. I also apologize that it's not as exciting as the first chapter.

You sigh. This is not how you pictured things going. Actually, the way you pictured things going was completely dumping his sorry ass after that one night at the rink, and yet a week later you are standing in front of his house. Er, apartment. Whatever. You wish it had not come to this big fucking mess with your stupid worthless friends who just up and fucking leave, something about a green sun and stupid concerts and what fucking ever. Which leaves you, without your roommates to help pay rent, homeless. Fuck.  
Well, not completely homeless. That is, you have three fucking days to get out of your apartment before your asshole landlord forces you off. Really, it's just great. Just perfect. Fucking stupid blind landlord and her fucking rules and her "I'll bring you to court if you don't leave" bullshit. Which brings you to this little piece of hell in front of you. Seriously, this guy lives in the most congested, smarmy-ass area of the whole damn city. And if things go the way you hope, you'll be living here too.   
You knock loudly on the door and are answered immediately by a guy who might actually be douchier than McShades. He's tall, blonde, and has what are possibly the world's lamest shades. He raises an eyebrow at you, rather than actually asking who you are. This is not how you envisioned things going, until you see McShades himself walking through the apartment behind him, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.  
"Hey!" you shout, "HEY!"  
He turns and sees you. He and the big guy exchange some sort of secret cool-guy nod that replaces actual speech (seriously, is he a fucking mute or what?!) as he walks up to the door. The guy with the pointy shades who you have deduced is his older brother walks off. What a weird family. It occurs to you now that you have to actually say something to this guy. Your mind is kind of drawing a blank, given that you don't really want to tip your hand to this guy but knowing that you have to.   
"Need something?"  
You bristle. Of course you need something, or you wouldn't be here, would you? But you need a favor from this guy. Be nice, Karkat. Be nice. You arrange your face into an expression that isn't absolute fury and choose your words carefully.  
"I need help. My friends backed out on me on an apartment we shared and I don't have anywhere to go."  
He raises his eyebrows.   
"No parents? Or relatives or whatever, I mean."  
"No."  
He cocks his head to the side a little, looks you up and down, taking in your beat-up clothes and backpack. Smiling, he lets you in.  
~  
When you first gave your name, number, and address to the little guy you had sex with at the rink, you were hoping to get called up at midnight for a little steamy goodness. This was not really what you had in mind, but seeing him looking so pathetic standing there, you weren't going to just leave him.   
You take him to your room, watching his face contort in confusion and disgust at all the swords and puppets lying around the hallway and kitchen. You offer no explanation; you know what Bro does is cool, even if people make faces.   
Once in your room, you sit on your bed and pat the place next to you, laughing to yourself when he harrumphs a little before sitting as far from you as possible. His face is judgmental, but trying to be expressionless and really just looks like he's got a stick up his ass. You let him analyze your badass posters and bitchin' table before you snap your fingers in front of his face.  
"My eyes are over here man."  
He glowers. "Yeah except I can't fucking see them."  
"Touché."   
"I didn't come here just to bug you. Damn." He runs his hands nervously through his hair. You wonder what he's thinking, when he just goes on this whole rant:  
"So I didn't mean to come here I'm just really trying to work things out and I don't want to stay here like forever and this is. fucking. not. a fucking sex favor or whatever I really just don't have anywhere to go and I'm getting kicked out in three days so I needed to find a place to stay for a bit and then I remembered that you gave me your address and I ALREADY KNOW it wasn't for something like this but I was really hoping you could help me and that's it, okay?!"  
"So....no parents? Really?"  
He frowns deeply.  
"Look, man, if you're gonna crash here I need to know what your deal is. I can't fucking have you busted for dust or something because you lied to me."  
This is a total lie, but your interest has been piqued by the angry munchkin. You know Bro could help you out of a jam like that without a problem, but he doesn't need to know that.   
"I don't have any relatives, I told you. I'm an orphan and-WOULD YOU STOP MAKING THAT FUCKING STUPID FACE I DON'T NEED YOUR PITY ASSHOLE. Yeah. So I was raised in an orphanage and would only answer to anyone if they talked to me through this stupid stuffed crab that I was unhealthily attached to. The end."  
You have been moving closer and closer to him while he talks without him realizing, and his cute angry face has been turning you on. You admit to yourself that it's probably a little creepy that you want to fuck an orphan while he's telling his life story. But the same guy is telling you he has no ties to anyone but you, and if that's not hot nothing is. Deep black eyes and small figure. Long eyelashes for a guy. He's skinny and probably doesn't eat much, hence his eagerness to follow a stranger for a piece of pizza at the rink. You tell yourself that it's something you can't help when you grab his neck from behind and pull him in to kiss you.  
~  
You should have seen this coming. Fuck it, why didn't you? Because you thought he was decent for letting you come in? Because you were a fucking optimist for once and thought if you opened up a little he wouldn't be an asshole? But now you know otherwise. His face is too close and his tongue is inside your mouth and moving and you aren't sure what's going on. You're scared. You don't like being this close to people and you don't want this kind of thing and WHAT IF HE KILLS YOU AFTER HE'S DONE MAKING OUT WITH YOU AND NOBODY EVER FINDS YOUR BODY? These thoughts buzz through your head as he pushes you into laying down without ever leaving your mouth. You know you pulled a little stunt at the rink and now it's coming back to bite you like fucking karma, this is what you get for having sex with a guy in the DJ box at a roller rink. You deserve this.   
Then, without any prompting from you, he breaks away. Despite being incriminatingly ON TOP OF YOU, he says, "Hey, are you okay? You don't look good, man."  
You try to nod but end up just looking away. He rolls over so he's laying next to you but not on top of you anymore.   
"Hey. Look over here. I need to see that you're okay."  
You look at him, trying to scowl in your usual way. It's only now that you realize you're crying.  
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I did it again, I'm sorry man. I'm sorry, okay?"  
He continues to apologize, but you smack him and he shuts up finally.   
"I'm not crying because of you, fuckass. I already know you're an asshole rapist. I'm just...I'M SCARED, OKAY?! MY FRIENDS LEFT ME BECAUSE I'M TOO OVERBEARING AND HAVE ISSUES AND I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO BUT THIS CREEP I MET AT A ROLLER RINK AND ARGH! WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS?!"  
"Hold up, calm down. I'm gonna tell you what's up and you're just gonna listen. Okay?"  
You nod. He pulls over a t-shirt lying on his bed and wipes your face with it. It smells spicy, like deodorant.  
"You're staying here until you want to leave. As long as you want. Bro is chill and it'll be sweet. Who knows, maybe you're like some sort of closet rap god. But I want something from you in return."  
You cringe. You knew this was coming. He's gonna want sex or money or drugs or whatever it is cool guys solicit from people and you can't believe you even considered staying with this fucking prick and-  
"Dude, chill. God."  
You try to chill. Chill is not happening.   
"Fine. What is it."  
"I want one free kiss every day. On the lips."  
You freeze. A kiss? Do you look like fucking Snow White? What the actual hell. This is FUCKING RIDICULOUS. But you could, in theory, manage that. It's free after all.   
~  
You smile, doing fucking pirouettes in your head you are jumping for joy so much in there. He's going to stay with you. You know you're making enough profit off your beats and comics online to support him even if he's flat broke. You are just fucking chill like that, like he doesn't even know how internet famous you are. You like this little guy, and it occurs to you that you don't even know his name yet.  
"Hey. What's your name, anyway?"  
"Karkat. Karkat Vantas."  
"Hey there Karkat. I'm Dave Strider."


End file.
